It's Everything
by awordycontradiction
Summary: It's everything about Lydia that makes Stiles love her.


"What's so special about this girl?" Dad asks one night at dinner. I drop my fork unexpectedly and wait a moment to look at him. We had developed this comfortable and understood silence in the last couple of weeks and this was the one thing I was not expecting. He could only be talking about one person, and it surprised me that he even noticed. "What?" I asked, completely out of character. "The girl in the hospital, Lydia? What's got you so caught up on her?" I rubbed my lips together and gave my best indifferent smile. How would he know the difference? "I'm not caught up on her." I corrected, picking my fork back up to scoop some mashed potatoes. "But you like her?" He pressed, the steaming white fluffs never reached my lips. "Sure I like her Dad," I strained my voice, trying not to imagine her laying helpless and probably alone in her hospital bed. "She's my friend, sort of." His brows twitched, a habit I too posses. It was_ "a tell"_ as Scott called it. What does he even know, with all his stupid werewolf skills? "Mrs. McCall told me that you slept at the hospital last night, and the night before-" "Alright, Dad- could we just drop it?" I demanded, exasperated. "Okay, Stiles. Just, just know that I'm here for you?" He answered honestly. I didn't need wolf powers to hear the truth in his words. I gave a hard nod and stared at my plate, suddenly not so hungry anymore.

Dad left after dinner, an emergency call to the station. I wasn't too worried. Things had been quiet for a few days, and it was more peace than I had in months. I was relishing in it. After my talk with Dad I was on edge, and couldn't understand how I lost my cool. Maybe it was that Lydia was in the hospital, pending the biggest question of her life, what was she? Or maybe it was because Scott's only chance at being normal again slipped from his grasp the moment Derek got that crazy look in his eyes? I suddenly didn't want to be alone anymore. I debated calling Scott, who would more than likely be sneaking into Allison's bedroom right about now. I could go to the hospital and convince Mrs. McCall to let me into Lydia's room just to talk to her. I knew it didn't have much ground, she wouldn't remember it, but it helped me; something that I never cared about anymore. Lydia. Her name, the mere thought of her could make me feel utterly helpless, and surprisingly stronger then before. How could my dad not see why I liked her so damn much?

It was everything about her, I concluded while laying on my bed, the open window filled my room with the shadow of stars. It's the way she carries herself, and the way she waits patiently for someone to hand in their test first so she wouldn't get questionable stares. It's how her hair will always look as red and wild as it did on that first day of third grade, when girls had gone from alien creatures to goddesses. Well, mostly just one girl. It's everything about Lydia Martin that makes me wish I could be someone else, anyone else so that she could even for a second think of me as someone other than that kid who rubbed glue all over his face in Mrs. Richter's art class in fourth grade. If I was anyone else she could love me, I thought sadly, even if I was Scott McCall. It pained me, that was one piece of information I kept hidden to myself, and only thought of when I was feeling particularly melodramatic. This I supposed was one of those times. She liked powerful, strong, popular types and as of right now I possessed none of those qualities. I groaned and turned over in bed, away from the stars, away from the night. For the passed few nights, stars and the brisk chill of evening only reminds me of that fateful situation with Peter. I had never been more scared in my life. Not even my mom's death got to me like seeing Lydia laying under Peter's morbid touch,completely helpless. I shivered, probably from the breeze filling the room. I jumped up, scratching the back of my neck and grabbed my keys. I didn't know where I was going but I knew if I sat here one more minute I'd completely go insane.

I made it to the hospital, knowing full well the whole ride that was exactly where I would end up. Is it cheesy to compare Lydia to a magnet? Well, who cares. It's as if she is the pull of the moon to my ocean tides. I don't need to be a werewolf to be infected by something so strongly. All I need is one smile, or a damn slow dance with her to set me off. I crept passed the nurse staff, swiftly kicked the door shut, ignoring the groan of the old hinges and pulled her comfortable looking chair from the corner to her bed side. I sighed and took off the baseball cap I threw on before leaving the house, seeing her like this wasn't something I planned on getting used to. She still looked immaculate, I know I shouldn't have expected anything less. Her hair had lost some of it's red over the years, fading into a strawberry blonde, sometimes I missed the wild curls of her fiery red hair, sometimes I missed those freckles that she now covers up with makeup, the ones that were so easily seen now in the pale light from the bedside table. I meant every word I said at that stupid dance, I knew a different side of her one that I am somewhat glad she doesn't show everyone, because I know that if she did, everyone would fall helplessly in love with her.

I just stare at her, for hours it seems, but as I squint to see the digital clock on the opposite wall its only eleven. I know can sympathize with Scott when he felt the need to protect Allison every hour of every day. I was starting to feel like myself again just sitting here in peace with her. Lydia's chest softly rose and fell, her very, very kissable lips were pursed in a drowsy sort of way and her creamy skin was gaining some of its rosy color back. Looking at her now made me question ever enjoying the different eye shadows she experimented with, all the different foundations that concealed her rosy freckled cheeks and all the different lipsticks that probably would make it annoying to kiss her very kissable lips with. God I wanted to kiss her. I bit my lip, my nails digging into the fabric of the chair, and I imagined my feet being glued to the cold tile floor, much like my face in the forth grade.

She wasn't mine to hold, and I could never make her happy the way she deserved.

She'd never know I spend countless hours here, accepting that I would always love her from afar.

Lydia Martin would never want a guy like Stiles Stilinski


End file.
